I really should get a job. For a year I've been living on air, freelance work, and savings, and I'm tired of the schedule of no schedule. Of course, in order to get a job one has to look for a job, and in order to look for a job one has to update one's resume. I don't think there's any task more boring, more horrid, than writing a resume. In my last job I had to read plenty of resumes, so I can say with some authority that reading them is no more fun than writing them. Resumes suck.
I've always changed things on the resume around depending on the job to which I am applying, so that whatever aspects of my experience seems most relevant are brought to the foreground. What this means, practically, is hours spent reliving all the ridiculous and often boring tasks I've mastered at one point or another. Budgeting, for example. I was good with my budget in that I spent all of it every year. If you don't spend it all, it gets cut the next year. So every September I ordered office supplies, computer bags, crap I didn't need just to protect that particular budget line. Budget management means I'm good at spending money I don't have to.
"Managing support staff." That one means that I spent a year trying to get my assistant to show up for work one hour late rather than her preferred two hours late. This would work for about a week at a time. She'd arrive promptly at 10, then it would become 10:25, then 10:47, then we'd be back to two hours late, have a talk that would leave her mad at me, and begin the cycle all over again. I wonder if her resume features her experience "Managing Managers."
I was in charge of our company's crisis communications plan and in making sure that all of our offices had crisis communications plans of their own. This was mainly about PR crises, and was mainly about ensuring that only certain staff would talk to the press and controlling what would be said to the press, but the plan also had to include our potential response to various disasters. What would nuclear annihilation mean to our company? What statement do we make in the event of invasion by space aliens? If California drops into the Pacific, who is our spokesperson? I left the company before Katrina and was saddened to see that we somehow didn't make it into any of the press coverage since my planning had included responses to government indifference and incompetence (although I called that situation "acts of God").
Depending on the position my resume could also include planning and leading conference calls. Some days all I did was go from one conference call to another. Usually this was small groups, but sometimes I had to lead calls with 30 or so participants. Being on the phone with 30 people is a skill, believe me, particularly when you consider that 80% of those people were eating their lunch. At least it sounded that way. How do you compete with lunch? You can't, although on your resume you list your experience in "staff motivation."
Of course all work is cyclical. Some days and weeks I'd be incredibly busy, and then there would be days when I really didn't have that much to do. No one can know about any of this down time, however, or else you'll be given more work that you then have to delegate and oversee to completion. "Time management" becomes an essential skill. How do you make surfing the Web look like a work-related task? How many hours of solitaire can you play while pretending to write press releases? Without effective time management, you might end up actually busy all day, every day, and that's just not the desired measurable outcome.
The process of writing this post and thinking about my resume makes me see why I'd rather continue working for myself. If it weren't for paychecks and health insurance, would any of us go to an office five days a week? But the time has come, and I need to manage it. My resume awaits.
Showing posts with label careers in marketing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label careers in marketing. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Our New Target
The resurgent Dow, the Gosselin divorce, corruption in New Jersey (yes, I know "corruption in New Jersey" is redundant), health care reform, none of the news of the day is as big, as meaningful, as life-altering, as the news that our new Target opened over the weekend. People young and old, big and small, poor and not-so-poor crammed the parking lot, jammed the aisles, and packed the check-outs. A new Target! Manna from heaven!
Oh, it's not just a run of the mill Target that I'm talking about. You see, our new Target is a Super Target, where you can purchase groceries along with your Michael Graves corkscrews and Ed Hardy knock-off T-shirts. It occupies what was recently a cornfield, just across the now traffic-congested street from the Super Wal-Mart, next door to the Super Wegman's. As you can see, we needed this Target. Seriously, it's the American way to be able to purchase prepackaged salad in a bag without ever having to make a left turn.
I'm a sucker for Grand Opening loss leaders so of course I went to check out our new mecca. And so I braved the parking lot and the crowds and strolled through the automatic doors to find myself standing inside...a Target. A Target just like all the other Targets within easy driving distance except that, if one is feeling exceptionally brave and doesn't care about the provinance of the food that one puts into one's body, one can purchase some cheap steak. All that hope, all that desire, all that anticipation, and all that results is a Target.
Life goes on, unchanged. The sun still rises and sets, my cat still vomits hairballs on a nightly basis, it still rains or doesn't rain, I still wish I could bring myself to lower my cable bill. The Super Target has accomplished nothing, save the destruction of a perfectly useful field. Six months ago a Sonic opened just up the street from this new Target, and for days cars clogged the street as hungry hoardes descended. The hoardes were rewarded at the end of their hour-long wait with a fast food burger.
Well, this is, after all, the oldest trick in marketing. Same old tired product? Change the packaging.
Oh, it's not just a run of the mill Target that I'm talking about. You see, our new Target is a Super Target, where you can purchase groceries along with your Michael Graves corkscrews and Ed Hardy knock-off T-shirts. It occupies what was recently a cornfield, just across the now traffic-congested street from the Super Wal-Mart, next door to the Super Wegman's. As you can see, we needed this Target. Seriously, it's the American way to be able to purchase prepackaged salad in a bag without ever having to make a left turn.
I'm a sucker for Grand Opening loss leaders so of course I went to check out our new mecca. And so I braved the parking lot and the crowds and strolled through the automatic doors to find myself standing inside...a Target. A Target just like all the other Targets within easy driving distance except that, if one is feeling exceptionally brave and doesn't care about the provinance of the food that one puts into one's body, one can purchase some cheap steak. All that hope, all that desire, all that anticipation, and all that results is a Target.
Life goes on, unchanged. The sun still rises and sets, my cat still vomits hairballs on a nightly basis, it still rains or doesn't rain, I still wish I could bring myself to lower my cable bill. The Super Target has accomplished nothing, save the destruction of a perfectly useful field. Six months ago a Sonic opened just up the street from this new Target, and for days cars clogged the street as hungry hoardes descended. The hoardes were rewarded at the end of their hour-long wait with a fast food burger.
Well, this is, after all, the oldest trick in marketing. Same old tired product? Change the packaging.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Really, Really, Swear to God, Original Famous Ray's
Perhaps the most important thing I learned while living in NYC was that, if you wanted good, authentic New York pizza, you pretty much had to go to Brooklyn. With the exception of a couple of places in Little Italy, Manhattan pizza was more serviceable than memorable. I also learned that if you wanted to open a pizza place on the island of Manhattan you appeared to be contractually bound to name it "Ray's."
The city was full of Ray's variants: Original Ray's; Famous Ray's; Original Famous Ray's; Famous Original Ray's; Ray's Original Famous; Ray's Famous Original; The Only Original Famous Ray's; and, my favorite, near Chinatown, No. 1 Original Ray's Best Pizza on the Bloock (sic). Rumor has it that there once was a guy named Ray who made good pizza. A family squabble led to one branch of the family running one Ray's while another branch of the family tried to capitalize on the name. Soon everyone wanted a piece of the Ray's action, so that now the name means nothing. When I moved back to PA I breathed a sigh of relief that pizza joints all had singular and authentically Italian names like Pino's, Morrici's, Rocco's. Not a Ray's in sight.
I was slightly concerned last summer when a place named Ray's Pizza opened in one of our surrounding suburbs, but I was told that it was in fact owned by someone named Ray, so I figured this had nothing to do with NY Ray's and the whole Ray's mess. But when I went through today's mail, there it was, a flyer for Ray's Famous II. The floodgates have officially opened. Reader, beware: blink, and you'll find a Ray's on every bloock.
The city was full of Ray's variants: Original Ray's; Famous Ray's; Original Famous Ray's; Famous Original Ray's; Ray's Original Famous; Ray's Famous Original; The Only Original Famous Ray's; and, my favorite, near Chinatown, No. 1 Original Ray's Best Pizza on the Bloock (sic). Rumor has it that there once was a guy named Ray who made good pizza. A family squabble led to one branch of the family running one Ray's while another branch of the family tried to capitalize on the name. Soon everyone wanted a piece of the Ray's action, so that now the name means nothing. When I moved back to PA I breathed a sigh of relief that pizza joints all had singular and authentically Italian names like Pino's, Morrici's, Rocco's. Not a Ray's in sight.
I was slightly concerned last summer when a place named Ray's Pizza opened in one of our surrounding suburbs, but I was told that it was in fact owned by someone named Ray, so I figured this had nothing to do with NY Ray's and the whole Ray's mess. But when I went through today's mail, there it was, a flyer for Ray's Famous II. The floodgates have officially opened. Reader, beware: blink, and you'll find a Ray's on every bloock.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Another Unforseen Consequence of Obama's Election
Follow the link to find a commercial for a North Carolina furniture store. Watch it and you will be as speechless as I. Welcome to the "post-racial" society. There's nothing more to say.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
You Can't Fight the Water Authority
Our water authority is about to increase its rates. There's nothing surprising there; just another utility charging us more. The average increase is something like $0.72 a month for residential service. What's galling is the letter my hairdresser received yesterday, as he was giving me a cut. He clearly uses a bit more water than the average person, what with all the shampooing and rinsing and washing of towels, and this fact was not lost on the water authority.
"Congratulations!" his letter exclaimed. "Our records indicate that you are a Special Care Customer. Because water is essential to your business, we want to ensure that you will never suffer a loss of service." His letter goes on to explain that his bill will increase a bit more than mine so that infrastructure can be improved. "We care about you," says the water authority, "and because we care about you, we're going to make you pay us more."
OK, but I actually do know something about water delivery in my fair city. All of us, Special Care or not, are hooked up to one main or another. If a main fails, everyone - hair salons included - hooked up to that main loses service until the main is fixed or service is rerouted through another main. Besides, who wouldn't suffer without water? I may use less, but I need water to drink, cook, bathe, just as much as he needs it to wash hair. Marketing-speak cannot change that simple fact.
Here's another simple fact. Around a month ago a filter at the water treatment plant went down for about two minutes. As a result, "all" customers received a phone call telling them to temporarily boil their water before drinking, just in case. I never received this call. I did receive my water bill the other day, so they certainly do know where to find me when they really need to. Of course, I don't use enough water to qualify for Special Care. I suppose you really do get what you pay for.
"Congratulations!" his letter exclaimed. "Our records indicate that you are a Special Care Customer. Because water is essential to your business, we want to ensure that you will never suffer a loss of service." His letter goes on to explain that his bill will increase a bit more than mine so that infrastructure can be improved. "We care about you," says the water authority, "and because we care about you, we're going to make you pay us more."
OK, but I actually do know something about water delivery in my fair city. All of us, Special Care or not, are hooked up to one main or another. If a main fails, everyone - hair salons included - hooked up to that main loses service until the main is fixed or service is rerouted through another main. Besides, who wouldn't suffer without water? I may use less, but I need water to drink, cook, bathe, just as much as he needs it to wash hair. Marketing-speak cannot change that simple fact.
Here's another simple fact. Around a month ago a filter at the water treatment plant went down for about two minutes. As a result, "all" customers received a phone call telling them to temporarily boil their water before drinking, just in case. I never received this call. I did receive my water bill the other day, so they certainly do know where to find me when they really need to. Of course, I don't use enough water to qualify for Special Care. I suppose you really do get what you pay for.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sex Ed, Continued
Today we consider a local favorite, prostitution. David Reuben, M.D. has much to say on the topic; this is the longest chapter in the book, perhaps because the prostitution chapter also contains information on lesbians, while gay men have an entire chapter of their own. Why? you ask. Obviously because prostitutes hate men and so do lesbians. Prostitutes are therefore lesbians. It's all very logical. We'll leave the lesbianism for our next lesson and get right to the trickin' and the whorin'.
How does a girl become a prostitute?
Most girls become prostitutes because they like it. The transition from a "straight" girl to a straight "girl" is usually a gradual one. It starts with run-of-the-mill promiscuity, maybe a divorce or two, then a job at a night club as a waitress or bar maid. Freelance sex with customers for gifts plus association with full-time hustlers who hang around the club often prompt a girl to put the pieces together and get in the life...
What causes the "demand"?
Let one of the girls tell her theory. Bonnie is twenty-seven; she has been playing for pay since she was nineteen.
"The only thing that keeps us in business is the American wife, God bless her. Those overfed, overdressed smug little bitches help me buy a new mink coat every other year. If all the wives woke up at once and gave their husbands what they wanted, I'd have to go back to waiting on tables at a beer joint. But I'm not too worried - business gets better every month. As long as the average woman thinks she has a golden vagina I'll be in good shape."
We next get a dissertation on the economics of the high-class hooker, how much she takes in versus how much she spends on hair, make-up, bedsheets, etc. According to our expert, after expenses she doesn't make very much.
If prostitutes don't wind up with much money, then why do they do it?
Virtually every prostitute is in the life because she wants to be. Obviously any woman who chooses to rent her vagina to a dozen men a day has a serious emotional problem...All prostitutes have one thing in common - they hate men.
Why is that?
The full answer is a complicated one related to the deep underlying emotional problems that drove them into the game. Basically, prostitution is an ironic form of revenge against all men, acted out on the johns...
What's a street whore?
Usually an overage hustler, an alcoholic hooker, or one that's on narcotics. They have become so dilapidated that they are willing to go for the price of a drink, a fix, or a cheap hotel room. They don't last long and are swept up by the police, usually within the hour.
Another class of prostitute works the bars; these hustlers are carefully segregated by the class of bar they frequent. The neighborhood girls hang around cheap corner bars; the club girls make themselves available at selected night spots. The more expensive hookers choose the more expensive cocktail lounges in fashionable hotels and motels.
What happens to prostitutes when they get old?
That's when things get tough for the girls. Some of the lucky ones have managed to save enough out of their earnings to go into a small business. One of the favorite lines is a ladies' ready-to-wear shop supplying fashionable clothes and fancy underwear to other hookers...
I'll never think of Victoria's Secret the same again.
How does a girl become a prostitute?
Most girls become prostitutes because they like it. The transition from a "straight" girl to a straight "girl" is usually a gradual one. It starts with run-of-the-mill promiscuity, maybe a divorce or two, then a job at a night club as a waitress or bar maid. Freelance sex with customers for gifts plus association with full-time hustlers who hang around the club often prompt a girl to put the pieces together and get in the life...
What causes the "demand"?
Let one of the girls tell her theory. Bonnie is twenty-seven; she has been playing for pay since she was nineteen.
"The only thing that keeps us in business is the American wife, God bless her. Those overfed, overdressed smug little bitches help me buy a new mink coat every other year. If all the wives woke up at once and gave their husbands what they wanted, I'd have to go back to waiting on tables at a beer joint. But I'm not too worried - business gets better every month. As long as the average woman thinks she has a golden vagina I'll be in good shape."
We next get a dissertation on the economics of the high-class hooker, how much she takes in versus how much she spends on hair, make-up, bedsheets, etc. According to our expert, after expenses she doesn't make very much.
If prostitutes don't wind up with much money, then why do they do it?
Virtually every prostitute is in the life because she wants to be. Obviously any woman who chooses to rent her vagina to a dozen men a day has a serious emotional problem...All prostitutes have one thing in common - they hate men.
Why is that?
The full answer is a complicated one related to the deep underlying emotional problems that drove them into the game. Basically, prostitution is an ironic form of revenge against all men, acted out on the johns...
What's a street whore?
Usually an overage hustler, an alcoholic hooker, or one that's on narcotics. They have become so dilapidated that they are willing to go for the price of a drink, a fix, or a cheap hotel room. They don't last long and are swept up by the police, usually within the hour.
Another class of prostitute works the bars; these hustlers are carefully segregated by the class of bar they frequent. The neighborhood girls hang around cheap corner bars; the club girls make themselves available at selected night spots. The more expensive hookers choose the more expensive cocktail lounges in fashionable hotels and motels.
What happens to prostitutes when they get old?
That's when things get tough for the girls. Some of the lucky ones have managed to save enough out of their earnings to go into a small business. One of the favorite lines is a ladies' ready-to-wear shop supplying fashionable clothes and fancy underwear to other hookers...
I'll never think of Victoria's Secret the same again.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Market Research
Last week, as I was in the middle of cooking something or other, the phone rang. Because I was distracted, I let the market researcher talk for a few minutes, forgetting even to ask why he was calling someone on the "Do Not Call" list. His company was doing market research on a new TV show, he explained. Would I be willing to watch a pilot and answer a few questions about it? Sure, I replied. I mean, we all know how much I love crappy TV.
I was told the DVD would arrive Monday, October 13, and that I had to watch the show Monday, October 13 for whatever reason. UPS dutifully delivered a package to my door yesterday afternoon. It contained a DVD, instructions, and two sealed surveys. I was told to open and complete the first survey before watching the pilot. I figured this would contain questions about my demographic profile and about what shows I currently watch and enjoy. I guess I'm just a naive idiot; it was a survey asking me about my brand preferences for such things as canned tuna and fabric softener.
Because the survey contained no words, just photographs of various name brands (I put a check next to the photo of my favorite brand in each category), the good news was that this took up only approximately 43 seconds of my day. Time to watch the pilot. Judging from the clothing and horrible "jokes," I'd say that this pilot was shot approximately 10 years ago. There's a reason why it was never picked up: it sucked. It sucked with an awfulness apparent even before the end of the opening teaser. I was asked a total of five questions about the show, which I answered within two minutes of pushing "play."
In order to ensure "the complete attention of the viewer" the DVD's rewind and fast forward features had been disabled. I soon discovered the real reason these features had been disabled: this pilot came complete with commercials, so many commercials that it's length was about 40 minutes, rather than the 30 minutes running time of a network situation comedy. Of course, I couldn't skip these commercials. And yes, the ads were for many of the products that had been featured in the pre-show survey.
After I was done folding laundry and brushing the cat the show was over. Time to fill out the post-viewing survey. It was the same as the pre-viewing survey. Exactly the same. I filled it out with exactly the same answers. What was the purpose of this exercise? It appears that the market research company is trying to find out how effective these commercials are. Would my preference for Downy change to a preference to Bounce after watching an ad? Did the happy family scarfing down Ortega tacos entice me to switch my allegiance from Old El Paso?
At least that's the only sense I can make of the whole thing. That, or there was no ulterior purpose and it was just a way of getting a bunch of unsuspecting Americans to forcibly watch some commercials. The market research company is calling me at 3:30 this afternoon to ask me some questions about the "pilot." I can't wait to talk to whoever is assigned the task of calling me. I have some questions of my own, after all. How much did each advertiser pay for this? Is this the most cost-effective way of marketing? What percentage of participants see through this charade? What percentage of those who see through it are angry? Aren't I on the "Do Not Call" list? Does this mean that television as a medium for delivering commercial messages as we now know them is dead? If we go entirely to product placement and "branded entertainment," what happens to the 30-second commercial? Is this what happens to it?
Bring it on, market research company. I can't wait to talk to you some more.
I was told the DVD would arrive Monday, October 13, and that I had to watch the show Monday, October 13 for whatever reason. UPS dutifully delivered a package to my door yesterday afternoon. It contained a DVD, instructions, and two sealed surveys. I was told to open and complete the first survey before watching the pilot. I figured this would contain questions about my demographic profile and about what shows I currently watch and enjoy. I guess I'm just a naive idiot; it was a survey asking me about my brand preferences for such things as canned tuna and fabric softener.
Because the survey contained no words, just photographs of various name brands (I put a check next to the photo of my favorite brand in each category), the good news was that this took up only approximately 43 seconds of my day. Time to watch the pilot. Judging from the clothing and horrible "jokes," I'd say that this pilot was shot approximately 10 years ago. There's a reason why it was never picked up: it sucked. It sucked with an awfulness apparent even before the end of the opening teaser. I was asked a total of five questions about the show, which I answered within two minutes of pushing "play."
In order to ensure "the complete attention of the viewer" the DVD's rewind and fast forward features had been disabled. I soon discovered the real reason these features had been disabled: this pilot came complete with commercials, so many commercials that it's length was about 40 minutes, rather than the 30 minutes running time of a network situation comedy. Of course, I couldn't skip these commercials. And yes, the ads were for many of the products that had been featured in the pre-show survey.
After I was done folding laundry and brushing the cat the show was over. Time to fill out the post-viewing survey. It was the same as the pre-viewing survey. Exactly the same. I filled it out with exactly the same answers. What was the purpose of this exercise? It appears that the market research company is trying to find out how effective these commercials are. Would my preference for Downy change to a preference to Bounce after watching an ad? Did the happy family scarfing down Ortega tacos entice me to switch my allegiance from Old El Paso?
At least that's the only sense I can make of the whole thing. That, or there was no ulterior purpose and it was just a way of getting a bunch of unsuspecting Americans to forcibly watch some commercials. The market research company is calling me at 3:30 this afternoon to ask me some questions about the "pilot." I can't wait to talk to whoever is assigned the task of calling me. I have some questions of my own, after all. How much did each advertiser pay for this? Is this the most cost-effective way of marketing? What percentage of participants see through this charade? What percentage of those who see through it are angry? Aren't I on the "Do Not Call" list? Does this mean that television as a medium for delivering commercial messages as we now know them is dead? If we go entirely to product placement and "branded entertainment," what happens to the 30-second commercial? Is this what happens to it?
Bring it on, market research company. I can't wait to talk to you some more.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Just Put Me in Charge Already
It's Wednesday, which means that readers across the country are turning to the food section of their local paper for recipes and restaurant reviews. Everywhere I've lived, the local paper, from the NY Times to the Washington Post, from the Easton Express to the Charlottesville Daily Progress, would run weekly sections as follows: none on Monday, health/science on Tuesday, food/dining Wednesday, house and garden Thursday, entertainment Friday, none on Saturday, and all of the above Sunday. Why?
I understand publishing these sections one per day in order to get people to buy the paper during the week, so I have no trouble with the underlying theory. Publishing an entertainment section on Friday makes perfect sense: that's the day movies open, so it's the day you'd want to run reviews, and it's the day when people are planning their weekends. It's the day entertainment advertising can be sold to pay for the section. But what makes Thursday home and garden day, Tuesday health day? I can't think of any reason, and my internet search was fruitless.
Grocery circulars and coupons used to be published on Wednesdays, so there was a time when a dining/food section on that day made sense. Circulars and coupons have migrated to Sunday, though, yet the Wednesday dining section persists. Because restaurants are running their ads Friday in the entertainment section and grocery stores on Sunday, the Wednesday dining section suffers from a lack of food-related advertising. Why does the tradition persist?
As far as I can tell no one knows the answer to this. I see it as one more reason the newspaper industry is suffering, another way publishers are clinging to an outdated approach to their business. I suspect the food and gardening sections were once aimed at "ladies," who cooked the meals and tended the rose bushes, and who had nothing better to do on a weekday morning than read the paper. The home sections really belong on Saturday, when people are thinking about home improvement and gardening projects. That's when food sections should also be run, when people are thinking about doing their grocery shopping for the week. Want to sell some papers on Wednesday? Run a gossip/tabloid section featuring Brittney's latest weight gain and breakdown. Want to sell some more on Thursday? Run a section reporting on and reviewing technology, electronics, games.
It's not rocket science.
I understand publishing these sections one per day in order to get people to buy the paper during the week, so I have no trouble with the underlying theory. Publishing an entertainment section on Friday makes perfect sense: that's the day movies open, so it's the day you'd want to run reviews, and it's the day when people are planning their weekends. It's the day entertainment advertising can be sold to pay for the section. But what makes Thursday home and garden day, Tuesday health day? I can't think of any reason, and my internet search was fruitless.
Grocery circulars and coupons used to be published on Wednesdays, so there was a time when a dining/food section on that day made sense. Circulars and coupons have migrated to Sunday, though, yet the Wednesday dining section persists. Because restaurants are running their ads Friday in the entertainment section and grocery stores on Sunday, the Wednesday dining section suffers from a lack of food-related advertising. Why does the tradition persist?
As far as I can tell no one knows the answer to this. I see it as one more reason the newspaper industry is suffering, another way publishers are clinging to an outdated approach to their business. I suspect the food and gardening sections were once aimed at "ladies," who cooked the meals and tended the rose bushes, and who had nothing better to do on a weekday morning than read the paper. The home sections really belong on Saturday, when people are thinking about home improvement and gardening projects. That's when food sections should also be run, when people are thinking about doing their grocery shopping for the week. Want to sell some papers on Wednesday? Run a gossip/tabloid section featuring Brittney's latest weight gain and breakdown. Want to sell some more on Thursday? Run a section reporting on and reviewing technology, electronics, games.
It's not rocket science.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Edited to Add...
8. I can use a teleprompter, too.
Palin did a good job delivering a good speech that some good speechwriter produced for her. Then again, I'm not surprised that an ex-sportscaster read her lines correctly. Expectations for her were so low she was bound to end up impressing, and she definitely succeeded in energizing the faithful gathered in the Twin Cities. She didn't win me over, even though she was wearing separates. I spent most of the speech marveling at how much she looked like Tina Fey, and then feeling sorry for Tina Fey, and then wishing that Tina Fey were still on SNL so I could see Tina Fey impersonating Palin.
I spent just as much time thinking about the set dressing and how it must have been planned as a stark contrast to last week's gathering in Denver. Most noticable was the preponderance of "hand-made" signs, giving a down home, grassroots feel to the orchestrated propoganda. Everything about the set was anti-slick, and meant to stand in contrast to the well–oiled image machine that was the DNC. While Palin spoke a slide show of national monuments played behind her in a continuous loop, the symbolic Greek columns that backed Obama replaced with specific images that signify nothing other than "America". "We're the party of just folks," it all intimated, "Those other guys are all high falutin. We're just a bunch of hockey moms who stayed up all night making signs with Travis Jr.'s finger paints."
One final thought: the child with Down's syndrome felt like a prop, handed off from Cindy McCain to First Dude to youngest daughter. I really hope this stops.
Palin did a good job delivering a good speech that some good speechwriter produced for her. Then again, I'm not surprised that an ex-sportscaster read her lines correctly. Expectations for her were so low she was bound to end up impressing, and she definitely succeeded in energizing the faithful gathered in the Twin Cities. She didn't win me over, even though she was wearing separates. I spent most of the speech marveling at how much she looked like Tina Fey, and then feeling sorry for Tina Fey, and then wishing that Tina Fey were still on SNL so I could see Tina Fey impersonating Palin.
I spent just as much time thinking about the set dressing and how it must have been planned as a stark contrast to last week's gathering in Denver. Most noticable was the preponderance of "hand-made" signs, giving a down home, grassroots feel to the orchestrated propoganda. Everything about the set was anti-slick, and meant to stand in contrast to the well–oiled image machine that was the DNC. While Palin spoke a slide show of national monuments played behind her in a continuous loop, the symbolic Greek columns that backed Obama replaced with specific images that signify nothing other than "America". "We're the party of just folks," it all intimated, "Those other guys are all high falutin. We're just a bunch of hockey moms who stayed up all night making signs with Travis Jr.'s finger paints."
One final thought: the child with Down's syndrome felt like a prop, handed off from Cindy McCain to First Dude to youngest daughter. I really hope this stops.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Cerealized Drama
On with life. Remember Quisp? Back in the day it was my favorite cereal for two reasons. First, I loved Quisp himself, that short outer space man with the propeller on his head. Secondly, because my mother didn't understand that it was essentially Captain Crunch in a different shape made by a different company, it was the only really sweet "sugar" cereal I was allowed to have.
Rules about food in our house were randomly created and steadfastly maintained. For example, my mother wasn't kosher, but she had been raised that way. Our house was in no way kosher, not by any stretch of the imagination. But shrimp were the only shellfish allowed. She'd serve pork chops, but not ham. We had bacon, but not sausage. We also had Christmas stockings, but no tree, so at least she was consistent in her randomness.
What she referred to as "sugar cereals" were bad for me and were forbidden. I understand that packaged food wasn't labeled as thorougly then as it is today, so maybe that explains why I was allowed to have Fruit Loops, Apple Jacks, and Corn Pops; if it had a healthy-sounding word in its name, it must be healthy, right? What I wanted most of all was Captain Crunch, that nirvanna of a bowl full of sweet I encountered at friends' houses the mornings after sleepovers. No way; strictly forbidden. Maybe the docile, smiling Quaker on the label gave my mother a false sense of security (after all, would a Quaker ever endanger America's youth?), maybe it was the word "oats" in the Quaker Oats logo, but for some reason she felt that Quisp and it's brother-cereal, Quake, were acceptable.
Quisp and Quake were exactly the same cereal but in different shapes, and named for different cartoon characters. Quisp was of course from another galaxy and so was not truly sexually determined. His dress and hairstyle seemed to indicate that he was in fact a "he," but his masculinity was akin to that of a stuffed animal. His voice was high-pitched, his mannerisms childlike. Whatever masculinity he had was pre-pubescent, unthreatening. Quake, on the other hand, came from underground. While Quisp's cereal came from the galaxies, Quake's was of the earth, produced by earthquakes. Quake was muscle-bound, deep-voiced, virile. In the commercials shown during Saturday morning cartoons, Quisp and Quake are rivals for our affection. They are presented as superheroes, and in ad after ad they compete to see who can save the earth, Quake with brawn, Quisp with brains.
Naturally, I loved Quisp and hated Quake. After all, I could never grow up to be Quake. I'd never have brawn or a deep voice, but I could one day save the world through intellect and charm. My nerdiness could one day pay off. I don't know if the Quaker Oats marketers introduced two versions of the same cereal so that one would appeal to girls and one boys, but whatever they were thinking it didn't work. Sometime in the early 70s they decided they weren't selling enough of either cereal and to stop competing with themselves; one cereal would be discontinued.
They had a contest, and everyone could vote, including kids. Who do you want to keep around, Quisp or Quake? I enthusiastically voted for Quisp. How could he lose? He was cute, he was smart, he had a propeller on his head, for crying out loud! In what would become a lifelong pattern, I was on the wrong end of the vote. Quisp was toast, relegated to the infinite cosmos of memory.
Proud, defiant, I never ate Quake. Golden Grahams became my favorite cereal (again, the name of the cereal tricking my mother into a belief in imaginary health benefits) until I was old enough to stop eating cereal altogether. I never liked milk, you see. I only wanted sweet cereals to flavor the milk so that I could drink it. Quake also eventually disappeared from supermarket shelves, another victim of free love and disco.
All these years later I am avenged. A Quisp cult has been slowly growing, aided and abbetted by the internet. By the turn of the century, Quisp was again being produced in limited quantities. Today, it's available nationwide, at least according to Quaker Oats. Quisp has his own website, and a very good one at that. If you can't find it at your local grocery store, you can order some from the site. Chalk another one up for the nerds.
Rules about food in our house were randomly created and steadfastly maintained. For example, my mother wasn't kosher, but she had been raised that way. Our house was in no way kosher, not by any stretch of the imagination. But shrimp were the only shellfish allowed. She'd serve pork chops, but not ham. We had bacon, but not sausage. We also had Christmas stockings, but no tree, so at least she was consistent in her randomness.
What she referred to as "sugar cereals" were bad for me and were forbidden. I understand that packaged food wasn't labeled as thorougly then as it is today, so maybe that explains why I was allowed to have Fruit Loops, Apple Jacks, and Corn Pops; if it had a healthy-sounding word in its name, it must be healthy, right? What I wanted most of all was Captain Crunch, that nirvanna of a bowl full of sweet I encountered at friends' houses the mornings after sleepovers. No way; strictly forbidden. Maybe the docile, smiling Quaker on the label gave my mother a false sense of security (after all, would a Quaker ever endanger America's youth?), maybe it was the word "oats" in the Quaker Oats logo, but for some reason she felt that Quisp and it's brother-cereal, Quake, were acceptable.
Quisp and Quake were exactly the same cereal but in different shapes, and named for different cartoon characters. Quisp was of course from another galaxy and so was not truly sexually determined. His dress and hairstyle seemed to indicate that he was in fact a "he," but his masculinity was akin to that of a stuffed animal. His voice was high-pitched, his mannerisms childlike. Whatever masculinity he had was pre-pubescent, unthreatening. Quake, on the other hand, came from underground. While Quisp's cereal came from the galaxies, Quake's was of the earth, produced by earthquakes. Quake was muscle-bound, deep-voiced, virile. In the commercials shown during Saturday morning cartoons, Quisp and Quake are rivals for our affection. They are presented as superheroes, and in ad after ad they compete to see who can save the earth, Quake with brawn, Quisp with brains.
Naturally, I loved Quisp and hated Quake. After all, I could never grow up to be Quake. I'd never have brawn or a deep voice, but I could one day save the world through intellect and charm. My nerdiness could one day pay off. I don't know if the Quaker Oats marketers introduced two versions of the same cereal so that one would appeal to girls and one boys, but whatever they were thinking it didn't work. Sometime in the early 70s they decided they weren't selling enough of either cereal and to stop competing with themselves; one cereal would be discontinued.
They had a contest, and everyone could vote, including kids. Who do you want to keep around, Quisp or Quake? I enthusiastically voted for Quisp. How could he lose? He was cute, he was smart, he had a propeller on his head, for crying out loud! In what would become a lifelong pattern, I was on the wrong end of the vote. Quisp was toast, relegated to the infinite cosmos of memory.
Proud, defiant, I never ate Quake. Golden Grahams became my favorite cereal (again, the name of the cereal tricking my mother into a belief in imaginary health benefits) until I was old enough to stop eating cereal altogether. I never liked milk, you see. I only wanted sweet cereals to flavor the milk so that I could drink it. Quake also eventually disappeared from supermarket shelves, another victim of free love and disco.
All these years later I am avenged. A Quisp cult has been slowly growing, aided and abbetted by the internet. By the turn of the century, Quisp was again being produced in limited quantities. Today, it's available nationwide, at least according to Quaker Oats. Quisp has his own website, and a very good one at that. If you can't find it at your local grocery store, you can order some from the site. Chalk another one up for the nerds.
Friday, May 16, 2008
A Little Something to Evelyn Wood
I've been thinking. I haven't been posting because I haven't been home much this week, but I've been thinking nonetheless. On occasion, individuals become so associated with an activity or set of actions that their name can become shorthand for that activity. This happened on the corporate level when "Xeroxing" became synonymous with photocopying. I've come up with some shorthands that I think should enter the popular lexicon; feel free to add your own to this list.
Bukowski: to become so inebriated that you cease functioning. "I Bukowskied last night and woke up this morning wearing someone else's underwear."
Hillary: to stay in a competition well beyond the point at which the competition is over. "The fact that my ex is remarrying doesn't mean that he isn't still in love with me. When he finds out how much I've Hillaried over him, he'll come back to me."
Lohan: to morph from pert post-adolescent to scary party animal seemingly overnight. "Suzy was a straight-A student until she Lohaned."
W: to have a complete inability to recognize the mess you're making of pretty much everything. "I really did a W when I took out that fourth mortgage so I could lease an SUV."
Spitzer: to profess something publicly while doing the opposite privately. "My neighbor says she's a vegan but I've seen the McDonald's bags in her trash. Spitzer!"
Michael Jackson: someone who repeatedly has plastic surgery while pretending to not have had any work done at all. "Jennifer told me she spent last month at the shore. What a Michael Jackson."
Day Lewis: to not only make a scene in pubic, but to spit while doing so. "Bob was so Bukowskied last night he Day Lewised until he was thrown out of the bar."
Henin: the opposite of Hillarying - to quit or retire while you're ahead so that you can claim to have never lost. "This list has been fun to make, so I'm calling a Henin."
Bukowski: to become so inebriated that you cease functioning. "I Bukowskied last night and woke up this morning wearing someone else's underwear."
Hillary: to stay in a competition well beyond the point at which the competition is over. "The fact that my ex is remarrying doesn't mean that he isn't still in love with me. When he finds out how much I've Hillaried over him, he'll come back to me."
Lohan: to morph from pert post-adolescent to scary party animal seemingly overnight. "Suzy was a straight-A student until she Lohaned."
W: to have a complete inability to recognize the mess you're making of pretty much everything. "I really did a W when I took out that fourth mortgage so I could lease an SUV."
Spitzer: to profess something publicly while doing the opposite privately. "My neighbor says she's a vegan but I've seen the McDonald's bags in her trash. Spitzer!"
Michael Jackson: someone who repeatedly has plastic surgery while pretending to not have had any work done at all. "Jennifer told me she spent last month at the shore. What a Michael Jackson."
Day Lewis: to not only make a scene in pubic, but to spit while doing so. "Bob was so Bukowskied last night he Day Lewised until he was thrown out of the bar."
Henin: the opposite of Hillarying - to quit or retire while you're ahead so that you can claim to have never lost. "This list has been fun to make, so I'm calling a Henin."
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Employment Journal, Part IV
It was time to call in the professionals. In order to get some perspective on my job quest, I decided to talk to someone who provides staffing services. Fortunately, my next-door office neighbor runs a such a firm, so I sat down yesterday with Elaine Patti of Track Staffing Services to see what she thought my chances would be on the open market.
I went over my education and resume, and asked her if she thought I could find a professional job in the Lehigh Valley. Here's the good news: "Definitely. You have a higher degree. As far as I can see, there's jobs at the high end and jobs at the low end. If you don't have at least a college degree, you're out of luck. If you don't have a college degree, you need to go to CIT and at least have a trade."
What sort of job could I expect to find, I asked. Of course, she told me that depends on what I'm looking for. However, "With your experience, you could be an executive director of a non-profit," Patti stated. "In this area there are a lot of non-profits and human service agencies. I would think all of those organizations would be avenues I'd pursue." Could she help place me as an executive director? "No, sorry, I don't work with non-profits, but I could try to match your skill sets with companies I do work with."
I asked how long a professional job search would take, and what kind of salary I could expect. She felt I could find a job in 30 to 90 days as long as I was flexible, but that if I had specific requirements I could be looking a long time. The salary range she felt would be $38-$60K for communications professionals. Obviously I'd look at the higher end of the range.
What if I'd been looking for months, had applied to all the non-profits and hospitals and come up short? Could she place me in a temp job? "My temp positions are more in the book-keeping field," she explained, "so without accounts payable or receivable experience, no, I wouldn't have anything for you." I told her the tale of my travails at the department stores and asked if I could hope to be hired by any sort of retailer. She felt that I could probably be hired at one of the big-box retailers for around $12 an hour, but that I could only expect to be hired part-time because it would be clear that I wouldn't be looking to make a career in retail. That, she felt, was the problem in department stores. Plus, she said that she "didn't see me behind a counter at Bon-Ton." I concur.
Finally, we talked about what the market is like for recent college graduates (not that recent grads necessarily flock to the Lehigh Valley). It doesn't sound pretty, at least not for those working in my field. Patti explained, "I see kids out of college who couldn't find a job in marketing, so they're wait staff or tending bar at a higher-end restaurant, and they find it hard to leave because they're making more there than entry-level marketing jobs would pay."
In short, I'm locked out of mall-type retailing positions because no one will believe I want a career in retail, and I'm locked out of high paying restaurant positions because recent college grads have cornered that market. Can I be a greeter at Wal-Mart? Stay tuned...
I went over my education and resume, and asked her if she thought I could find a professional job in the Lehigh Valley. Here's the good news: "Definitely. You have a higher degree. As far as I can see, there's jobs at the high end and jobs at the low end. If you don't have at least a college degree, you're out of luck. If you don't have a college degree, you need to go to CIT and at least have a trade."
What sort of job could I expect to find, I asked. Of course, she told me that depends on what I'm looking for. However, "With your experience, you could be an executive director of a non-profit," Patti stated. "In this area there are a lot of non-profits and human service agencies. I would think all of those organizations would be avenues I'd pursue." Could she help place me as an executive director? "No, sorry, I don't work with non-profits, but I could try to match your skill sets with companies I do work with."
I asked how long a professional job search would take, and what kind of salary I could expect. She felt I could find a job in 30 to 90 days as long as I was flexible, but that if I had specific requirements I could be looking a long time. The salary range she felt would be $38-$60K for communications professionals. Obviously I'd look at the higher end of the range.
What if I'd been looking for months, had applied to all the non-profits and hospitals and come up short? Could she place me in a temp job? "My temp positions are more in the book-keeping field," she explained, "so without accounts payable or receivable experience, no, I wouldn't have anything for you." I told her the tale of my travails at the department stores and asked if I could hope to be hired by any sort of retailer. She felt that I could probably be hired at one of the big-box retailers for around $12 an hour, but that I could only expect to be hired part-time because it would be clear that I wouldn't be looking to make a career in retail. That, she felt, was the problem in department stores. Plus, she said that she "didn't see me behind a counter at Bon-Ton." I concur.
Finally, we talked about what the market is like for recent college graduates (not that recent grads necessarily flock to the Lehigh Valley). It doesn't sound pretty, at least not for those working in my field. Patti explained, "I see kids out of college who couldn't find a job in marketing, so they're wait staff or tending bar at a higher-end restaurant, and they find it hard to leave because they're making more there than entry-level marketing jobs would pay."
In short, I'm locked out of mall-type retailing positions because no one will believe I want a career in retail, and I'm locked out of high paying restaurant positions because recent college grads have cornered that market. Can I be a greeter at Wal-Mart? Stay tuned...
Monday, March 24, 2008
Employment Journal, Part I
I read in yesterday's New York Times that even though we might expect the current economic "slowdown" to last several years, we don't need to worry about a repeat of the Great Depression. According to the economists interviewed, unemployment levels will never again approach the 25% of the early 1930s. The worst we can expect, according to this article, is that people will have to start selling their possessions on eBay. How reassuring.
I realized that I have no idea what the employment situation in eastern Pennsylvania might be. I know that it's taking people a while to find professional positions; I know that if I were to put together a resume and look for a position in marketing or publishing it would probably take me a while to find something. But what if my situation were more dire? What if I needed a job, any job, as soon as possible? I've decided to find out.
I thought about doing a Nickeled and Dimed kind of thing and pretending that I have no education and am simply looking for a job in the service sector, but that's been done. I've decided to be who I am, with my education and with my actual job experience, and to pretend that I've been unable to find a while-collar position and that I'm in search of whatever work I can find.
I have a PhD in English. I taught at the college level for seven years, then left academia and worked in PR and marketing for eight years. Almost five years ago I started a local publication. For the past four years I've edited and published that magazine and been a freelancer and consultant in marketing communications. I've decided to leave out the freelance parts of my resume, and to tell potential employers that my business has gone under and I need work while I get on my feet again. I will say that I've been looking for a professional position but haven't been able to find one and just need a job.
I've never worked in a restaurant, or in retail. The first part of my quest is to see if there are in fact any jobs around here to be had, the second part is to see if anyone would hire me. What if my scenario were the truth? What if I had my mortgage and my bills to pay and my business and my savings were gone? Would I be able to find enough work to keep me out of foreclosure?
Today, I'm going to the malls. I figure I'll start my quest with retail. I'll let you know tomorrow what, if anything, happens.
I realized that I have no idea what the employment situation in eastern Pennsylvania might be. I know that it's taking people a while to find professional positions; I know that if I were to put together a resume and look for a position in marketing or publishing it would probably take me a while to find something. But what if my situation were more dire? What if I needed a job, any job, as soon as possible? I've decided to find out.
I thought about doing a Nickeled and Dimed kind of thing and pretending that I have no education and am simply looking for a job in the service sector, but that's been done. I've decided to be who I am, with my education and with my actual job experience, and to pretend that I've been unable to find a while-collar position and that I'm in search of whatever work I can find.
I have a PhD in English. I taught at the college level for seven years, then left academia and worked in PR and marketing for eight years. Almost five years ago I started a local publication. For the past four years I've edited and published that magazine and been a freelancer and consultant in marketing communications. I've decided to leave out the freelance parts of my resume, and to tell potential employers that my business has gone under and I need work while I get on my feet again. I will say that I've been looking for a professional position but haven't been able to find one and just need a job.
I've never worked in a restaurant, or in retail. The first part of my quest is to see if there are in fact any jobs around here to be had, the second part is to see if anyone would hire me. What if my scenario were the truth? What if I had my mortgage and my bills to pay and my business and my savings were gone? Would I be able to find enough work to keep me out of foreclosure?
Today, I'm going to the malls. I figure I'll start my quest with retail. I'll let you know tomorrow what, if anything, happens.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
WordWatch 2008
Mountaineer. Navigator. Trail Blazer. Escape. Excursion. Aviator. Tundra. Santa Fe. Wrangler. Expedition. Bronco. Outback. Forrester: Vehicles that can never be driven off-road.
Countryside. Glenndale. Fernwood. Brookside. Fieldcrest. Meadowlawn. Mountainview. RiverRun. Forestgate. Parkland: Streets that are named for that which was destroyed during their construction.
Younger boxer-like mix. Adult mixed breed. Spuds McKenzie look-alike. Feisty bull-terrier mix. Nice disposition mixed breed. Not good with cats. Large terrier mix. Sweet pit-a-poo. Gentle giant: Ways the shelter describes pit bulls.
Countryside. Glenndale. Fernwood. Brookside. Fieldcrest. Meadowlawn. Mountainview. RiverRun. Forestgate. Parkland: Streets that are named for that which was destroyed during their construction.
Younger boxer-like mix. Adult mixed breed. Spuds McKenzie look-alike. Feisty bull-terrier mix. Nice disposition mixed breed. Not good with cats. Large terrier mix. Sweet pit-a-poo. Gentle giant: Ways the shelter describes pit bulls.
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